The Nurse and The Guard
by MoonOfBlue
Summary: Ellie Brent, a young, kind-hearted nurse, has been temporarily moved to E Block, to supervise a sick murderess. Here she meets Brutus Howell. But can a place so filled with darkness and despair, also make room for love? Brutus/OC
1. Prologue

**THE NURSE AND THE GUARD**

**'The Green Mile' belongs to Stephen King, as well as the characters - except Ellie Brent.  
This is not only my very first fanfiction - in English! - but also the first love story I have ever written. So please be gentle with me and my grammar mistakes ^^, You are very welcome to correct me though - that's how I learn (:  
I have been a fan of The Green Mile, since I saw the movie and the line "Brutal's a single man' always makes me so frustrated. How can a man like Brutus be single?! (Yes, I am a huge David Morse-fan xD) Well, I thought he deserved someone... So here goes:**

**The story is currently rated T, because of sexual themes, language and violence, but it might change later (if I have the courage xD)**

**Prologue **

It's was half past eleven in the evening and Paul Edgecomb – leader of the death row, E Block in Cold Mountain Prison in Lousiana – had just made himself comfortable in his office with the newspaper and a sandwich, when a huge shadow felt on his desk. A dossier was tossed on the article he had been reading.

"I think you oughta take a look at this, Paul," the shadow said, with its deep, rough voice that could only belong to Pauls next in command, Brutus Howell. Paul looked up and met his eyes; there was something in his bright blue gaze that gave Paul a bad feeling. Brutus seemed genuinely worried and concerned – and Paul knew, that the ground would have to shock violently, before Brutus was shaken: He was almost six and a half foot tall; a former football tackle, who had been a guard on the E Block for almost seven years, so he had seen it all. His anxiety was not a good sign. Not at all.

Paul finished his mouthful of sandwich. "What is it?"

"The information about the new prisoner." Brutus hesitated for a moment. "An elderly woman."

"Is that what's bothering you?" Paul asked, almost relieved, as he pulled the file closer. "Heaven, we have had women in here before – not exactly old ones, but I don't see the problem…"

"It ain't her, that worries me," Brutus said dourly. "It's her sentence."

Paul shot him a puzzled look, opened the dossier and started reading:

"Alice Reardon… 60 years old – one tough grandma, huh? Blah, blah, blah… Murdered her husband in his sleep, then later her brother-in-law… suffering from fits and must be supervised by…"

At this point, Paul stopped and glared at the last sentences, before finally raising his head. Brutus met his eyes and nodded slowly.

"Yes," he simply said. "We'll get another woman on the Mile – and she ain't gonna be doing time, that's for sure."

"They can't be serious," Paul said and flicked through the pages. "Why would they give a murder her own private nurse?"

"'Cause they wanna make sure, she doesn't die before time – the families wanna to see her get toasted in the chair. They want their revenge." Brutus shook his head. "But that's not my problem – they could have hired an entire police force, for all I cared. I just hate the idea about having an innocent woman here. The Mile is not exactly overflowed with the best people of Louisiana, now, is it?"

Paul shook his head in disbelief. No, you could say a lot of things about E Block, but good people weren't the easiest thing to find on the death row. The poor girl would possibly break, before her shift was over...


	2. Ellie

**Chapter 1 - Ellie**

Ellie had never laid eyes on a real murder, before she met Alice Reardon. She had desperately tried not to be prejudiced, and just think of her as any other patient, but she was still surprised, the first time she opened the door to Mrs. Reardons ward at the hospital.

She could have been somebody's mother or grandmother. Blimey, she could have been Ellies!

She was an elegant woman; slim and neat. Her short, brown, waved hair had only flashes of grey in it and her narrow eyes were strong like silver coins. The wrinkles in her face were fine like flaws in pale marble.

"So," Mrs. Reardon said calmly, when she spotted her in the open door. "You are the poor girl, who has to be stuck with me until the very end. I hope you like prison food."

And Ellie couldn't help herself: Even though she knew she was standing face to face to a murderer, she took a liking to the elderly woman that instantly.

"I'm not fussy, ma'am," she said, giving her a light smile as she raised the tray of hospital food in her hands. "I'm use to this."

Mrs. Reardon didn't return her smile. "Not even fussy about your work cases, I see. Have you poisoned the food?"

"No," said Ellie serenely. "It's bad enough as it is."

"What a shame." Mrs. Reardon turned to stare out the window again.

"The guards from Cold Mountain will be here at 11 a.m. tomorrow to pick us up."

"Very well."

Ellie put the tray down, biting her lip thoughtfully.

"You know," she said to Mrs. Reardons back. "I've been following your case in the papers."

"So has any living creature in Louisiana," Mrs. Reardon answered bitterly.

"But I don't think you are a monster."

She could see Mrs. Reardons's reflection blink. 'The Grandmonster', that was what the papers had named her – a tasteless word play, if you asked Ellie. The elderly lady had killed her husband by shooting him in the head, while he was asleep. The same night, she went to his brother's house and killed him too. Jack and Tom Reardon had been the richest men in the town, earning their entire profits by making household appliance. They had been very popular, giving money to the school and sports clubs and putting the town on the world map.

And then, one beautiful night in May, Jacks frail wife killed them both in cold blood. The neighbours heard the shooting at Tom's and when the police arrived, she was waiting outside to surrender. Her reason for the murders had shocked the town: Exploitation and abuse through her entire life. So she claimed anyway.

Except a few bruises, there weren't many proves. Her friends, the few she had, had stood up for her, but their testimonies were nothing compared to the one told by the brothers friends and families. And it didn't help much that Mrs. Reardon never tried to convince the judge to spare her. She took her sentence with a grateful _"thank you",_ the newspapers said.

Almost everyone in the town hated her.

But not Ellie. She didn't approve of what she had done; not the slightest bit – but she couldn't hate her. And not because Mrs. Reardon was elderly, with a weak heart and fits.

But because of what she said, when the judge asked her, why she didn't just commit suicide, after the murders, if she already knew that she was going to die anyway:

"_I know I did something horrible, something unforgivable. But it was the only revenge I could get. They ruined my life and I wanted to make them pay. I'm not standing here to be spared. I will take my sentence, because I deserve it. Like they deserved it. I deeply hope, you will someday understand that. That's the only reason why I'm still here."_

She was moved to a mental hospital during the trial, but was found sane. When the case closed, she ended up at Sankt Stephen – Ellies hospital. That was a week ago. Tomorrow she was going to be put on death row. And in two or three month time, she would die.

And Ellie would be with her, to the very end.

Mrs. Reardon turned to face her.

"You don't have to be nice to me," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You are just paid to keep me alive. I know – I heard to judge."

"I'm not here to continue the hate against you, Mrs. Reardon," Ellie said gently. "I promise. There is no point to that."

Mrs. Reardon studied her for a long time. Then she said: "What's your name?"

Heaven, she hadn't even introduced herself!

"It's Eleanor Brent, ma'am – or just Ellie."

"And I'm just Alice," the elderly woman said, her features finally starting to soften. "And I don't ever want to hear that other name again."

oOo

There was a nearly three hours' drive to Sank Stephen from Cold Mountain. Pauls behind was actually numb, when they finally arrived. God damn stagecoaches! And it didn't help a bit, that it was August and already hotter than Hell.

"The wheel's yours on the way back, Brute," he said, whipping of the sweat on his forehead. "Percy and I will be sitting in the back with the old gal."

Brutus stepped out of the car from the passengers seat. "Gotcha."

The walked towards the hospital entrance, young Percy Wetmore at their tail. To Pauls relief, it was a bit cooler inside. They followed a large corridor to the reception.

A young woman, with big glasses and a pointy face, gave them a quick look. "Yes?"

"Paul Edgecombe, Cold Mountain Prison," he said, pulling out his papers. "We're here to pick up one of your patients. A woman named Alice Reardon."

The woman hardly looked at him. "You have an agreement?"

"Yes, as I said…" Paul began, a bit annoyed, but then he was interrupted by a young nurse, that appeared from a hallway behind the counter. She carried a dossier in her arms.

"It's alright, Lauren," she said gently. "I got them."

She was dressed in nothing but white, right from her uniform dress that stopped below the knees, to the apron and collar, which were hold together with a gold coloured emblem. She greeted them, with a friendly smile.

"You must be the guards from Cold Mountain?" She had a weak, British accent that Paul couldn't quite place.

"Yes, ma'am." Paul showed her the papers. "Here to pick up a Mrs. Reardon."

The nurse read them and nodded. "Eleanor Brent. I'm hired to supervise her during the stay."

She shook hands with Brutus first, then Percy. The young man stared at bit to long at her, when he noticed that she wasn't wearing a ring. Not that Paul blamed him, though. She was a young, subdued, but still good-looking girl: Brown hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves, framing a well-proportioned face with warm, blue eyes. Petite she was too; her slim figure couldn't be taller than five and a half foot.

But she was older than Percy, Paul noticed, as he took her hand. Somewhere in her mid twenties, perhaps older. Little Percy Wetmore didn't stand a chance – he had just turned 21 himself.

Miss Brent gave Paul the dossier. "Her papers. Let me just get the keys, then I'll show you to her ward."

They all watched her walk down the hallway again. Paul leaned to his right.

"See something you like, Percy?" he mumbled.

"She's too old," the boy drawled, but still he couldn't stop staring at the features, her uniform quite nicely brought outfrom behind, before she disappeared. Next to him, Brutus made an resignedly sound and shook his head.

After a couple of minutes, she reappeared, carrying a rather large suitcase in he right hand, the keys in her left. Brutus stepped forward to help her with it. She smiled gratefully and made a gesture with her now free hand down the larger corridor.

"This way, gentlemen, if you would be so kind."


	3. The Guards of Cold Mountain

**Chapter 2 – The Guards of Cold Mountain**

Ellie was being weighted and measured, as they walked down the corridor: She could feel their eyes at her back and it made her both anxious and a bit annoyed – but not surprised.

She had been told that her gender would raise a lot of eyebrows. Her colleagues had entertained her with numerous of horror stories, about young women trying their luck at the men's area. Even her superior had tried to talk her out of it, but in the end he had to give in – because no one else would take the job. And so far, she hadn't changed her mind. She liked the guards… Well, except the young Percy Wetmore.

She wasn't quite sure why (and her conscience hated her for it), but he made her uncomfortable. It might have something to do with the fact that he had stared at her, like she was some kind of well-hung meat in the butcher's window, he considered to buy…

But she liked Paul. He seemed like a genuinely good man. And Brutus Howell too; the guard, who had offered to take her suitcase, even though she had been a bit terrified by his stature at first.

He was a handsome man, but God Almighty, the size of him!

Standing straight, wearing both his shoes and cap, he had to be very close to two metres. And with the chest of an ox and shoulders almost twice as broad as hers, he looked like one of those brutal men, who worked along the railway, grunting meaningless words to each other across the sleepers.

But Brutus was of a completely different world. His smile and bright blue bedroom eyes had been gently and warm, when he introduced himself and his voice, although deep and husky, was softened by his Southern accent, so it cuddled around her like a warm, woolly blanket. There was something very trustable about him.

They reached the ward of Alice Reardon and the policeman guarding her, nodded his approval, before opening the door. Inside Alice was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Hello, Alice," Ellie said gently. "It's time to go. Are you ready?"

"I have been ready, since I got her," was the tranquil answer, as Alice rose to her feet to face the guards.

"Mrs. Reardon," Paul said calmly. "I'm Paul Edgecombe, the superior of E Block in the state penitentiary at Cold Mountain, where you will be staying. These gentlemen are Mr. Howell and Mr. Wetmore, two of our guards. We are here to take you to the prison."

Brutus nodded towards her; Percy just stared, until Paul shot him a look. Then he stepped forward, pulling ankle chains and cuffs from his belt. Ellie frowned.

"Are those really necessary?" she asked tensely. "I'm sure, that Alice won't try anything."

"Sorry miss, but he have too," Paul said. "We have rules, we have to obey, otherwise, I'm gonna be in big trouble with the warden back home."

"It's just provisions," Brutus said gently behind her. "Nothing is going to happen to her."

"But…"

"I will be all right, Ellie, my dear," Alice interrupted softly. "Don't you worry about me."

Ellie gave her a brief smile. The prisoner having to calm down the supervisor – well, that was new… Giving in, she stepped aside, so the guards could do their jobs. Brutus and Percy worked fast and steady and soon both Alice's wrists and ankles were cuffed. And Ellie kept her mouth shot.

oOo

The rest of the extradition went as smooth as black ice: Pauls signed the papers and Brutus and Percy walked Alice Reardon to the prison van; an old vehicle with no front doors or windows, but two seats and a large hold, where the prisoner would be placed.

Ellie contemplated the van with slight concern. It looked like a survival from the Great War.

"We made room for you up front, miss Brent," said Paul; he walked next to her, now carrying her suitcase, while Brutus had his hands full. "Along with Brutal… Sorry – Brutus."

"Brutal?" Ellie repeated, her eyes on the tall guard. "Not the most flattering nickname, now is it?"

They both watched Brutus Howell helping the elderly lady up the stairs to the back of the van, gently as if she was ninety years old. Paul grinned.

"No," he said. "And I'll bet you have already figured out, it's rooted in pure sarcasm, despite his size."

Ellie smiled to herself. "I had a feeling…"

They walked the gravelled path between the hospital and the van in silence. Ellie didn't notice how the amusement on Paul's face faded and was then replaced by a more serious look, before he touched her arm.

"Miss Brent, could I just talk to you for a moment?"

She stopped. "Sure?"

He glared at the van, to see if Alice was out of earshot, before finally speaking:

"I just want to make sure, that you know what you are getting in to," he said quietly. "The prison – and E Block in particular – is not a nice place. You will be spending your day amongst murderers, rapists and death. Are you sure, you have the guts for it, miss Brent?"

In her mind, she sighed. Of course, she should have known…

"Mr. Edgecombe," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Trust me, I have been thinking long and hard about this. Truth is, I'm not a prison guard – but I'm not just a simple nurse either. And if you know even the slightest thing about life at a hospital, you too know that our job isn't a bed of roses. Our patients may not be murderers and rapist, but _death_ is around us every single day, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the right moment to show its ugly face. And that either breaks you or strengthens you. And since I'm still here, I'm not broken yet."

He studied her closely. Ellie returned his gaze.

"Very well," he said at last. "But if something's bothering you in any way, even the smallest of things, you come straight to me, all right?"

"Of course," Ellie replied, feeling relieved. For a short moment she had thought, it was going to be her superior's persistence all over again.

The reached the van and Ellie got in up front with her suitcase. Soon she was joined by Brutus.

"We haven't scared you off for good, I see," he said humorously, pushing the seat back.

"I promise you, Mr. Howell," she responded, smiling gently. "I'm not that easy to frighten."

"Good to hear." He turned on the engine, pulled the gear lever and pushed the starting button. The van spluttered back to life. "Hold on to that spirit of yours – you're gonna need it, when we reach Cold Mountain."

oOo

They rumbled through the landscapes of Louisiana and fields of crops unfolded as far as the eye could see. Tepid wind swept in from the glassless car windows and Ellie could taste the dust and heat in the air. She cast a sidelong glance at Brutus. He had removed his cap, revealing shortcut, grizzled hair, which made it even harder to decide his age: He could be anything from thirty to fifty years old – maybe even as old as her father.

She turned her head again, looking at the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

"Doesn't look like we'll be getting any rain soon," Brutus suddenly said, like he had read her mind – or maybe he just wanted to break the silence. After the long stillness, his voice sounded as roughly as ever.

"I'm afraid you're right," Ellie said. "The crops could need it, though…"

"Yearh." There was another brief silence, before he added: "Sorry for asking, but you ain't initially from around here, are yer?"

She smirked. "What gave me away?"

"Your pretty accent. UK?"

"Yes – born and raised in Oxford, where my parents met. My father is from New Orleans, though, so we moved back to Louisiana, when I was sixteen."

"Must have been some culture shock, huh?"

"Mmm. The weather is the hardest part. I do miss the snow and my first encounter with a summer without fog and chilly rain, but with actually _warmth,_ nearly killed me."

He laughed and finally turned his gaze at her. The vivid, blue colour of his eyes, reminded Ellie of those of a young boy.

"What does your family say, about you talking a job like this?" he asked softly.

"Oh, not much. I don't think my parents fancy it, but they stay neutral," she said, returning his smile. "They can't do much about it anyway."

"And your husband?"

"Well," Ellie said slowly. "He doesn't say a lot – because there isn't any."_ Not anymore…_

"Oh, sorry. I just assumed…" She never heard what he assumed, because he silenced himself and cleared his throat. "You know, I think it's mighty brave of you, miss."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I believe you are the first person, who says that."

He smiled, his eyes now on the road again.

"So," he asked, "where are you staying? I don't suppose you'll be driving back and forward every day?"

"No, thank God. I have rented a room just a couple of miles from the prison. In New Roads."

"That's a swell choice: Nice restaurants and bus connections to Cold Mountain every second hour."

"I'm glad to hear. I was afraid I was going to rent a car as well."

He forgot all about the road for a moment and turned to her. "You have a driver's license?"

His surprise made her smile. It had been a part of her heartbroken rebellion after the divorce, like the nursing school, but that didn't sound very flattering, so she just said: "It looked good on my résumé."

He grinned. "'Cause it did…"

The awkward silence didn't return. When they arrived at Cold Mountain in the early afternoon, it occurred to Ellie, that it had been the shortest three hours drive of her life. She even caught herself wishing it had been longer…


	4. Welcome to E Block

**Heya guys ^^ Thanks for the reviews and the favs. It means a lot (: I know the whole romance has been a bit vague, but the Ellie/Brutus thing **_**is**_** going to blossom, I promise ;P**

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Welcome to E Block**

The guard outside the prison, glared down at Miss Brent's paper, before handing them back to Brutus with a smirk and a low whistle.

"That's a mighty fine prisoner, you got yourself there, Brutal," he said mischievously, eyeing the young nurse beside the tall guard. "Where will she be staying?"

"Somewhere far away from you, Barry," Brutus answered calmly.

"Aw, whatta shame." Barry raised a finger to the shining shadow of his cap. "Well, good luck then, ma'am. I hope yer visited here at the foyer of hell, will be as pleasant as possible."

Miss Brent bowed her head, a smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, sir."

Barry waved and the gait slid open, so Brutus could let the van roll through it. Even at the low speed, he could see the dust in the rear-view mirror, whirling up from the tires, making it look like reddish smoke coming out of the hold.

Miss Brent turned in her seat. "Charming fellow."

Brutus snorted and she gave a short laugh, but then her features became serious again.

"This isn't really the foyer of hell, is it?" she asked warily. "I mean, I know it's not a trip to the park, but…"

The grave look on her face touched his conscience.

"No," he said softly. "Not E Block, anyway. Course we have our bad times, but it isn't anything like the other blocks. Most days are calm and quiet, don't you worry. You are gonna be all right."

The relieved smile lightened up her face, making him smile too. He remembered all to well, how it was like to be the new man on the block. The thought about those wicked, cruel men behind the walls, had made him so nervous, he had felt sick to his stomach. And he had been a big man, who knew how to fight back. She was just a young woman…

"You ain't having second thoughts, have yer?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Alice needs me. And if she's able to handle this, so am I."

Brutus regarded her. Whether her loyalty towards the old woman was an act of pure braveness or perhaps a slight naivety, he did not know. Never the less, it was still quite admirable…

They reached the big, familiar, greengrayish brick building with the painted E on the facade and Brutus honked the horn, before killing the engine.

"Well, welcome to E Block then, miss," he said, putting on his cap again with a slight smile.

oOo

Another young brown-haired guard with blue, deep-set eyes, that gave him a permanent worried look, opened the door from the inside and the entire cortege walked in: Paul and Percy had taking the lead, Alice between them, still hand-cuffed. Brutus walked behind them, with Ellies suitcase in one hand. At the end came finally Ellie, eyeing her new surroundings.

It was an old building and the linoleum on the floor, had faded into the same greengrayish colour as the bricks outside. But the rest of the interior wasn't even half as bad, as Ellie had feared.

There were six big cells, three on each side of the corridor and half of them already occupied. At the bottom of the aisle there was a thick-looking door with a small window, like the porthole on a ship. At the other end, behind her, were a desk and a huge, churchlike window that let in the warm shine of the sun. To her right, was another door, perhaps an office? She glared upwards. The ceiling was high and had to her surprise, skylights.

The entire confinement was very solemn. The other prisoners stayed quite, even though Ellie could feel their curious glares. Paul and Percy walked Alice to her cell at the very end of the aisle and then Paul asked her to sit down on her bunk. He then gave her a speech about the eating and bathing times, the radio and when she was allowed to go outside for fresh air. Alice listened in complete silence and then bowed her head, when Paul asked if she had understood.

"If you have question or want something, you call for us, or miss Brent," he finished. "You already know Mr. Howell and Mr. Wetmore. And these two…" He made a gesture out of the cell, towards the worried-looking man and another older gentleman that had joined them; a small man with a sharp nose and even sharper, brown eyes under bushy brows, "…are Dean Stanton and Harry Terwilliger. You've had a long trip, so I will send for some lunch, and then you can rest, if you want. In the meantime, I will borrow your nurse."

"Thank you, Mr. Edgecombe," Alice said, giving Ellie an approving look. Ellie smiled back at her.

They stepped out of the cell and Dean Stanton locked the door.

"Dean, could you fetch us some lunch?" Paul asked him, as they walked back the aisle. "I sure could need that."

"Yes, sir."

"And miss Brent, could I just talk to you in my office for a moment?"

"Of course," Ellie answered dutifully, but inside she was rolling her eyes. _Oh, dear God – not again…_

Paul's office was indeed behind the door. It was a clamp room, with another door, a desk to the right and shelves and racks at every wall; all of them overflowing with paperwork and files. The American flag hang beside the window.

Paul leaned against the edge of his desk, his arm crossed, but then he suddenly straightened and grabbed for the chair in the corner, next to his desk. "You wanna sit down?"

"No, it's all right. I'll rather stand, if that's okay? My legs are still recovering from the ride."

"Sure." He went back to his desk, clearing his throat. "Miss Brent…"

"Pardon my honesty," Ellie interrupted. "But you are not going to persuade me again, are you?"

Paul shook his head with a small smile. "Not at all, miss Brent. I already know that's gonna be a lost cause."

"Good." Ellie said calmly. "Because that really was the only reason, why you joined your guards today, wasn't it? Surely, a superior don't have to get his prisoner himself…"

She eyed him with slightly raised eyebrows.

Paul smiled at his own disclosure. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying… No, we are going to introduce you to the inmates in a moment, but first I wanna talk to you about the rules around here, if that's all right?"

Ellie nodded, all ears.

"Good. Being a nurse, you probably already know how to take care of yourself, when dealing with risky situations. But this is much more dangerous, than a nervous patient. Every year, we have guards getting killed or injured in here – it doesn't take more than one moment of unawareness. And we would hate to see you get hurt."

_Well, that's comforting_, Ellie thought to herself.

"You must stay away from and out of the cells at all time," Paul continued. "Even mrs. Reardons. Except when there's a guard with you. If you have to walk down the aisle or talk to the inmates, you stay in the middle, so they can't reach yer."

He looked at her, waiting for her accepting and she nodded again. The graveness of his features softened.

"And no matter what happens, don't try to be a hero," he said, smirking. "I doubt your salary is worth it."

Someone knocked on the office's door and when Paul answered, Dean's head appeared behind the door. Paul waved him in.

"Thanks Dean," he said, as the young guard handed him a wrapped sandwich. "You guys haven't been introduced, have you? Dean, this is Eleanor Brent, the nurse supervising Alice Reardon, our newest inmate. Miss Brent, Dean Stanton."

"Hello, ma'am," Dean said politely. "Nice to meet you. I brought a spare sandwich too, in case you were hungry."

"Thank you, Mr. Stanton," Ellie said gently, shaking his hand. He was a middle-sized man, a couple of inches taller than Ellie was. Close up, the lineaments of his face were sharp, making him older than she expected; he was probably in his early thirties.

Paul clapped his hand together.

"Right. Let's get some lunch and then I'll let Brutus show you around, how 'bout that?" He turned towards the door. "Guys, I know you're out there – you can all come in now!"

At first, nothing happened, and then Brutus came in, looking a bit sheepishly, followed closely by Harry and Percy. Ellie exchanged handshakes with the elder guard, as Paul introduced her again. And then the office door was closed again and the solemn atmosphere was gone and Ellie was surrounded by questions. All the attention made her a bit shy. She was relived, when Brutus touched her arm gently and gave her an excuse to turn away from the crowd.

"Your suitcase is out front," he said. "Under the desk."

She raised her head, to meet his eyes. "Thank you. Paul suggested that you would show me around the Block afterwards?"

He smiled down at her. "That would be my pleasure, miss. We could do it now, if you wanted to?"

"Sure."

Brutus turned to his superior. "Paul? You want me to give her the grand tour now?"

"Yearh, why not. You kids have fun. I'll have Harry looking after the old gal."

Brutus gesticulated towards the other door, smirking at Dean and Harry and all of their unanswered quetions. "Don't worry boys: You'll get her back."

oOo

"Sorry 'bout all the fuss," Brutus muttered, as they walked out of Paul's office. "We ain't use to volunteer visitors like you. Most of 'em cry or hate our guts."

"It's quite all right," she assured him. "They are nice people."

He smiled. "You wanna see the execution room first?"

She nodded. Sooner or later she would have to see it anyway…

There was a narrow hallway behind Paul's office. To the right, Ellie could see out in the yard. To the left, there was another door. What was hidden behind that door, made Ellie stop short.

It was the chair. Just standing there on a wooden platform, like some sort of rare relic in a museum. Without the wires, the metal cap and clamps, it would look like any other massive chair – almost like an ancient king's throne – built in dark oak wood with broad arm and legs. It was quite surrealistic to know, that this chair had claimed so many lives. It looked so… harmless.

"We call it Ol' Sparky," Brutus said, his rough voice echoing in the empty room. Ellie forced her eyes away from the chair, just to find that the rest of the room was as perversely odd, as the chair. It wasn't actually a room – just a shed, with concrete floor and metal roof. The air was still and warm. Along the walls, someone had moved the audience's chairs to the side, so they could sweep the floor. At the far end of the shed, a tiny part of the room had been separated from the rest with a wooden wall.

"Catching," Ellie mumbled, turning her attention to the chair again.

Brutus smiled slightly; a smile without the track of cheerfulness. "It's not much to look at, huh?"

"No," she admitted. "How does it work?"

Brutus pointed towards the separated room. "When the inmate is clamped to the chair, wearing the metal cap, we have a man in the switch room, who turns on the generator and later the electricity. The electricity then runs through the wires and into the cap." He walked back to the chair, picking up something from a tin bucket next to the platform. It was a sponge – a yellow, circular sponge. He continued: "Inside the cap, we've place the sponge, soaked in brine. When the electricity reaches the cap, it goes right through to water and into the convicted mans brain and kills him."

His voice was calm, as if he was just explaining how the generator was working. Ellie looked at him, at when he raised his glare and met hers, he blushed slightly.

"Sorry," he said silently. "I guess I've been here so long, it becomes everyday life."

She smiled at him. "I understand. How many executions have you witnessed?"

"Christ – forty or fifty, maybe more. I lost count years ago."

Ellie looked down at the sponge in his huge hand. "Don't take this the wrong way," she said. "But you guys are so different from what I expected."

"What'd you mean?"

Ellie shrugged lightly. "I guess, I thought that people, who worked so close with death was… I don't know…"

"Cold-hearted bastards?" Brutus asked, half joking and half dryly.

"No," she assured him. "But definitely more marked by it. It must be a hard job."

"Well, sometimes… I guess you get used to it. But you see death too, don't you? Being a nurse, I mean."

"Sure, I do, but we save lives as well. It kind of offsets it a bit; makes it easier to handle the tough times."

He nodded and dropped the sponge back into the bucket. Then he cleared his throat.

"So… You wanna meet the inmates?"

oOo

She would, so they walked back to the hallway.

"We only have three at the moment, beside Mrs. Reardon" Brutus told her. "Guess you saw 'em, at the arrival: Eduard Delacroix, Arthur Flanders and Arlen Bitterbuck. All three convicted for murder."

Delacroix both murders _and_ rape, he thought to himself, but she didn't need to know that. It wasn't a pretty story.

The boys were gone. The only one left in Paul's office, was Paul himself. Percy and Dean were at the laundry room, and Harry was mopping the corridor, he told them, as he got up.

Harry was indeed cleaning, but he stopped at once, when Paul and Brutus arrived with miss Brent, and leaned against the mop, waiting for the entertainment, he knew would come: Changes on The Green Mile, even the slightest, was rare.

The first cell on the left was occupied by Arlen Bitterbuck, the Chief: A sad-looking, old Indian, steady as a rock. Behind him was Arthur Flanders, called the President: A stoic, slender and quite (even Brutus had to admit it) handsome man with thick, dark hair, that had greyed at the temples. Across the corridor, in the middle cell, was Eduard Delacroix; a tiny, balding Frenchman. Mrs. Reardon had been placed next to him.

All the men were at their feet, looking curious through the bars, like children in the zoo, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new, exotic animal… Mrs. Reardon was not in sight. Perhaps she had already gone to bed.

Paul cleared his throat.

"Listen up, guys," he said softly. "In the next couple of month, we'll have a special guest amongst us. This young woman is Eleanor Brent, a nurse from Skt. Stephen. She has been transferred here to take care of Mrs. Reardon, our new inmate, until she is no longer needed. You guys treat her nicely now, all right?"

"I wouldn't mind having my own private nurse, too," the President said, eyeing Miss Brent with a sly smile. "Could that be arranged?"

Brutus shot him a look.

"A nurse," Del repeated and looked closely at Miss Brent through the bars. Then he smiled. "Je pensais que tu étais u ange quand vous êtes entré par la porte."*

Miss Brent smiled back, but cast down her eyes in a brief, shy second. Like if she wasn't use to compliments. Because it was a compliment, that Brutus was sure of, even though he didn't understand a single word.

"Merci, monsieur Delacroix" she said and then to Brutus' surprise she continued – a bit slowly, but in perfect French, as far as he could hear. "Mais je pense que vous avez… été ici trop longtemps, si vous... pouvez me prendre pour un ange."

Del chuckled. "You keep 'er, boss Edgecombe. She bof' smart and pretty."

"She'll stay, if you guys behave," he told them, catching the eyes of the President. "Is that clear?"

There was a consenting mumble. The President, sensing he had lost this round, went back to his bunk. Paul turned towards her, smiling.

"I guess that's settled then," he said. "Welcome to _the Green Mile_."

* * *

***If the French is completely wrong, please blame Google Translate :P I can't speak a single word of French myself… **


	5. To you it's just Brutus

**_Heya guys ^^ If you're still around, I'm really sorry for have kept you waiting. I haven't forgot about the story ;) Just been occupied with moving and tough days at work. (And watching St. Elsewhere *cough*. Had no idea, how addictive that show is!)_**

_**But here's chapter four ^^ Please, let me know, if there's any mistakes.** _

* * *

**Chapter 4 – To you it's just Brutus...**

It was late afternoon and E Block was quiet, as though the entire building had dozed off in the heat. Ellie had returned from at meeting with Paul, the prisons doctor Tom Briscoe and the warden, Hal Moores; a sympathetic, lean old man, that stood even higher than Brutus. Now she was sitting outside Alice Reardons cell, strongly observed by Dean Stanton, when he wasn't doing paper works.

The warden had talked about the date of execution, which has been loosely set around the end of October. But there was still a chance, Alice would be declared temporarily insane, he had told her, because of the abuse, and had her sentence change to life. Ellie wasn't sure, how to break the news to Alice: The old woman had already embrace death, if it was something she had yearned for years.

Instead, Ellie grabbed for at different subject.

"Do you know why they call it 'The _Green_ Mile'?" she asked quietly through the bars, where Alice sat calmly on the bunk, her hands fold in her lap. Paul had used the term several times, but she hadn't dared asking.

"Oh, yes I do," the old woman said. "The Indian was so kind to tell me. In other prisons, the route to the chair is called 'The Last Mile', but because of the colour of the floor, this route is called 'The Green Mile."

"Well, they should have called it 'The Faded, Once-Green Linoleum Mile', instead," Ellie said, glaring down the corridor, where specks of dust were playing in the sun beam from the large window. "But I guess that doesn't sound as jolly, now does it?"

Alice smiled her agreement.

"So," she said softly. "How are the guards treating you?"

Ellie shot Dean a quick look and leaned in against the bars.

"They are guarding me, as if I was a child and they had killer-lions in every cell," Ellie answered quietly with a slight smirk. "But they are very nice – I like them."

"Perhaps some more than others?" Alice asked innocently.

Ellie frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I have seen how that young boy, Percy, is looking at you," Alice said. "I'll bet, he has asked you out, before the end of this week."

"Blimey, I hope not," Ellie muttered.

"Why not? He's handsome, isn't he?"

Ellie hesitated. Yes, Percy was handsome, but there was something underneath that well-combed surface, that made her skin crawl. At first, she had thought it was a foolish feeling, but when she had returned from the meeting with the warden, he had been walking his round and she had seen how to looks in the prisoners' eyes changed, as soon as they spotted his squatty shadow on the linoleum. It had been clearest at Delacroix': He had had the same frightened anger in his eyes, as a beaten dog. He hated him, but she couldn't figure out why. None of the other guardgenerated such reaction– not even Brutus and his huge figure.

"Is it because he's short?" Alice asked, when she didn't answer.

"What?" Ellie couldn't help, but laugh. "No, of course not."

"Because if that was the case," Alice said calmly. "There is another single man in here, tall as a building – and I'm most certain, he would love to go out on a date with you too."

Ellie rolled her eyes. Alice started to sound like her mother, constantly reminding her of her single status.

"I'm not here to find a man," she told her. "I'm here to take care of you, remember?"

"My dear, I may be old, but I'm certainly not going to die, just because you take your eyes of me for one evening."

"I certainly hope not." Ellie smiled. "I have to sleep at some point."

"And maybe more…" Alice added; her calm, lady-like voice making the hidden message in those words sounding a bit surreal.

"Oh, stop it!"

She did, but there was a know-all smile on her lips, that told Ellie she should make a desperate change of subject – but somehow she couldn't.

"How do you know, he's single?" she asked.

"Who? Percy?"

"No, Brutus."

"No ring," Alice responded simply.

Ellie wasn't convinced. "Maybe he's just seeing someone."

Alice eyed her and asked. "Why do you suddenly sound so interested?"

Ellie shot her a look. "Don't start that again. I was just wondering – he seems like such a sweet man." _Handsome too_, a voice added in her head, sounding suspiciously like Alice. She nearly blushed.

"The perhaps you should try your luck with him?"

Ellie shook her head. "No, I…" She sighed. "Don't be foolish."

There was a brief silence and Ellie realised how shallow it sounded. But it wasn't the thought about being with Brutus that seemed foolish. It was the thought about being with _any_ man. But before she could explain herself, Alice started talking, already miles ahead:

"My dear," she said softly. "Who hurt you?"

Ellie gaped at her, a bit shocked about how fast the old woman had seen through her. But then again, if anyone knew about getting hurt… Ellie hesitated, her eyes wandering to Dean to make sure, he was still busy with his paperwork. She breathed out a sigh.

"My former husband," she finally said quietly. "I divorced him five years ago."

"What happened?"

"He didn't quite understand that the part about 'remain true to her, as long as we both shall live' only included me."

"What a pig," Alice replied, so brusquely it nearly made Ellie laugh. But then her smile faded.

Yes, he had been a pig. But he had also been her first true love. She met him, when she was nineteen, married him when she was twenty – and divorced him by the age of twenty-one. He had been a year older than her, a medical student and charming as few; handsome and intelligent. For nearly two years, she had been the luckiest girl alive… and then her entire world burst, when she discovered the truth.

She moved back with her parents during the divorce, spent a month in eternal shock and grief, before the fury finally shook her out of the coma. What happened afterwards was an act of pure desperation, she knew that now, but back then it felt rebellious – she wanted to show the world, that she was capable of taking care of herself, so she joined to nursing school and when she graduated, she rented the apartment were she still lived.

And not once had there been a man in her life. Most of the time, she was quite satisfied about her choice. But once in a while, the bitter voice of reality joined her:

_You are twenty-six and you are not even dating someone. You are going to die as a sad, old maid, if you don't move your arse! _

Ellie sighed. The voice was right. But how could she get near the fire again, when she still haven't recovered from the last burn?

oOo

Dean hardly looked at Brutus, when he came to say goodnight. The young guard was watching miss Brent with a slight frown.

"I don't like her sitting so close to the bars," Dean muttered, when Brutus raised an eyebrow at him.

"Aw, come on now, you ol' hen," Brutus said, smirking. "Mrs. Reardon wouldn't hurt a hair on her head. Besides, her shift is over in half an hour. Let her stay."

Dean looked up at him. "Who will watch the old gal over night?"

"The prison doc', of course. The other Blocks are quiet at night, not much to do anyway. He'll have his paperwork moved to Pauls office, so he's closer to her."

"I can't believe, they're making such a fuss about this," Dean sighed. "She shouldn't be here. This is no place for a young woman."

"She'll be fine – Christ, you sound like a worried father."

Dean shot him a dry look. "Weren't you on your way home?"

Brutus chuckled.

"I'm going, I'm going." He turned towards the cells. "Night fellas – ladies. I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep tight."

The inmates murmured a 'g'night' back and miss Brent smiled her gently smile. "Good night, Mr. Howell."

Outside, the darkest of rainclouds had to his surprise, appeared in the horizon. Brutus loosened his tie and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, as he walked to his car. The air was still heavy with heat; if he hurried, he would be home before the storm hit…

But he had hardly finished his thought, before he saw it:

"Oh, you piece of…. You have got to be kidding me!"

Cursing under his breath, he pushed his cap back and knelt before the flat tire. Completely busted. He was annoyingly aware, that he had to change it, before he could get home – there was no way around it. So he sighed, rose to his feet and rolled up his sleeves.

By the time, he was done, raindrops had started to streak the dust on his old Pontiac and he could smell the incoming rain. Placing the tools under the back seats, he was ready to go, when something caught his attention: A tiny figure moving behind the parked cars. Brutus straightened.

It was Miss Brent, walking alone in the incipient rain, with her suitcase in one hand. Brutus shook his head; why hadn't any of the boys offered her a lift?

"Miss Brent," he called. She stopped by the sound of her name and turned around. "You wanna drive along to the bus stop?"

"Is it that far?" she called back.

"One and a half, maybe two miles. But you'll be soaked, before you get there."

She looked up at the sky, thought about it for a moment, then walked towards him. The rain had already stained her coat. He opened the door for her.

"That's very nice of you, Mr. Howell," she said gently. "Thank you."

"Brutus," he corrected her, as he reached for the handle of the suitcase. His fingers touched hers lightly, before she let go.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's just 'Brutus' – or 'Brutal'. 'Mr. Howell' sounds too much like a banker."

She smiled and her dark eyes lid up like the twilight sky.

"You know that goes both ways, right?" she said softly, as she got in to the car. "If I have to skip the formality, so do you."

He hesitated with the car door; he hadn't expected that. "You wan' me to call you Eleanor?"

"Oh no – people only use my real name, when I'm in trouble. It has always been 'Ellie'."

"A'right."

He climbed in too. As he started on the engine, Ellie suddenly turned towards him, as though she had just remembered something.

"By the way, why are you still here? I thought you had left long ago?"

"Flat tire," he responded.

"Oh, that's bad luck." She was silent for a short moment, before she added with a slight smile: "I should have left earlier, then I could have helped you fix it."

Brutus grinned. "You know how to change a tire?"

"Sure. My driving instructor wouldn't let me pass, unless I could do so. So I learned."

"How many flat tires have you changed, then?"

She smiled mischievously. "Not a single one since my driving test. No car, no flat tires."

Brutus laughed, but inside he was quite overwhelmed by her. He had to admit, he hadn't had high thoughts about her, before he met her. But she was growing on him and fast too; he couldn't remember one woman he had ever met, who knew how to repair even the simplest thing on an automobile. She was quite remarkable…

They reached the gate and went through the mandatory exchange of ID with the guard, before they could leave the prison. As the gate closed behind them, Brutus noticed that Ellie glanced back at E-block in the side mirror.

"Already worrying about your patient?" he said. "You are in for a long night then."

Ellie's slightly embarrassed smile, told him, he had read her mind.

"An old occupational injury, I'm afraid," she admitted. "I have never found it easy, to give the responsibility to others at the end of a shift."

"Don't worry. Doc Briscoe knows what 'e's doing."

"I know. I meet him today. He seemed very… determined"

"He's just a bitter, ol' bulldog, that's what he is."

Ellie laughed, then clasped a hand to her mouth, giving him a reproachfully look. "That's not very nice!"

Brutus chuckled. Ellie shook her head, smiling. Suddenly the arrival at the bus stop came way to soon.

Brutus slowed down, hesitating. The rain had intensified. There was a shelter next to the stop, but he wasn't even sure when the bus will come.

"You know," he began. "I could drive you to New Roads, if you want to."

Ellie frowned thoughtfully. "But where do you live?"

"Uh, a bit outside Bunkie."

"But that's the completely different direction! No, I wouldn't allow that."

"It's no problem, really…"

"Nu-uh. You are not wasting your spare time, being my chauffeur. I'm taking the bus."

"You sure 'bout that?"

_Who sounds like a worried ol' daddy now?_

"Yes." She smiled and stepped out of the car. "Good night, Brutus. And thanks for the ride."

"Night, Ellie." He was surprised how perfectly her name laid on his tongue. "See ya tomorrow."

He could see her wave in the rear-back mirror, as he did a U-turn and drove off, and a sudden warmth filled his chest. Forcing his eyes away from her, he cursed the heater and reached out the turn it off – just to realize, that the airflow hitting him, was as chilly as the rain outside.


	6. A clash of Wetmore

_Heya guys (:_

_Thank you all so much for the favs, follows and the very kind review, it means a lot ^^, And here comes chapter five!_

_If you are a Percy-fan, I would like to warn you and apologize in advance: This story will not be very nice to him – he's one of those characters is just love to hate! xD_

* * *

**Chapter 5 – A clash of Wetmore**

"… What about the toilet? I could clean that?"

"Miss Brent, you weren't hired as a cleaning lady…"

"_Please_, Mr. Edgecomb. I need to do something or I'll lose my mind!"

Poor Paul – she was driving him crazy. But now, when the clock had hit early evening, if was basically his fault, that she was close to death of restlessness. She wasn't allowed on the Mile, except when she was checking up on Alice and right now, the elderly lady was asleep. And she had promised to keep a distance to the other prisoners. Because, as Paul very sensibly had put it: "Talking to a sweet, young lady all day, doesn't really count as a punishment."

So she had spent most of her working hours in Paul's office, reading or chatting with the guys. And it wasn't because she didn't enjoy it – she like the guards – but she was a nurse! She was used to busy schedules, demanding doctors and panic in the E.R.

In comparison, the E-Block was as nerve breaking as a day in the mortuary. And now with Paul and Percy doing paper works, and Dean and Brutus out of the house, she felt like a third wheel. A very useless one…

Paul sighed. One of those sighs, where you could tell, he had already given up.

"Alright," he finally said slowly. "I guess the hallway and the execution room could use a little sweeping. The broom's in the restrain home." He handed her the key. "But remember, stay away from…"

"… the bars. I know." She smiled. "I was actually paying attention yesterday."

"Good girl."

Her presence at the Mile, didn't go unnoticed. The prisoners watch her curiously, when she locked herself in the restrain room.

"Are you going to clean, miss Brent?" Flanders asked, lowering the book he had been reading, when she came out with the broom.

"I sure am."

"Une si jolie dame ne doit pas être le nettoyage des sols," Delacroix joined in. "Boss Edgecomb fait que vous le faites?"

Ellie smiled and locked the door again. "Croyez-le ou non: j'ai fait du bénévolat."

Delacroix chuckled and popped himself on his bunk. "_Pardonnez ma franchise, _but where did you learn to speak suc' good French, mad'moiselle Brent?"

"Several years of evening classes. Me and by best friend thought we were going to study in France."

"But you didn't?"

"No. I got married. But I still continued with my classes though, just for the fun of it."

"And what 'bout your friend?"

_She screwed my husband._ "Uh – I guess she realised, it was nothing but a silly school girls dream."

She hadn't paid any attention to the sound of footsteps behind her, so when every trace of laughter suddenly disappeared from Delacroix face, she believe, in a moment of foolish panic, that he had actually read her mind.

But then she heard Percy's drawling voice from behind: "Having a nice time, huh, Del?"

Delacroix' eyes darkened with dread, but his face stayed calm.

"We were jus' talkin', boss Wetmore," he responded quietly. "Jus' talking'"

"I'm sure you were," Percy said, so softly it was almost alarming. "Bet you have a lot to talk about, ain't that right, Del?"

Del didn't respond. His eyes flicked.

"Did you tell her 'bout your crime?" Percy asked. "'Bout that poor girl you raped and killed and those people, you burned to death?"

Del swallowed. Ellie was speechless.

"No?" A thin smile grew on Percy's lips. "Well, my bad, then…"

And then he just turned and walked back up the Mile. No, not 'walked' – _strolled_. So full of himself, it made Ellies blood boil. Before she even realised it, she had run after him. She caught up with him at the desk.

"What are you doing?"

Percy turned slowly.

"Just wanted you to know the truth, miss Brent," he responded lightly. "Thought you earned that, after all your kindness…"

"I didn't need to know," Ellie said, forcing her anger back. "That is _not_ why I'm here."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Percy drawled, his eyes shining dangerously, as he killed the space between them with a single step. "Did I just destroy your little romantic picture of this place? These people are _sick_ – they do not deserve a single, kind word!"

"The man has to _die_, Percy! I think that's enough punishment, without me treating him like a monster!"

Percy opened his mouth, but she never got to hear the answer. At that very moment, Dean and Brutus walked through the door. They both stopped dead, as though the tensions had surrounded the Mile like a wall.

Brutus frowned. "What's goin' on?"

To her left, the door to Paul's office opened; he had probably heard the argument too.

"Nothing," Ellie said flatly. "And if your gentlemen will excuse me, I have floors to clean."

Her hand clutching the broom was trembling, as she rushed past Paul, who looked utterly bewildered, and slammed his key down on the table. But she was too furious to feel bad about it.

oOo

The sight of Ellie and Percy so close together – _very_ close – had felt like a punch to his chest, even though Brutus didn't quite understand why. Shouldn't he have seen it coming? All the stealthy glances from Percy, when she wasn't looking – like a wolf lurking on a sheep.

But he had never in his living life imagined that she would be interested in him.

She was way too good for him – that little brat did not deserve her!

It wasn't until she stormed out, leaving an annoyed Percy behind, that he finally realised, that her flaming cheeks wasn't a result of the young guards fawning flirtation, but pure anger instead. And he couldn't help but feeling a little bit relieved. Especially when Percy turned his irritation towards him and Dean.

"What are you two staring at?" he snarled.

"What'd you do to her?" Brutus asked sternly.

"I didn't _do_ anything," Percy sneered. "I just told her how things really work 'round here. It ain't my fault, if she doesn't have the guts for it."

His tone made Brutus clench his fists. Paul eyed him warningly.

"Percy," he said calmly, without taking his eyes of Brutus. "Have you been to the supply room as I told you to?"

"No."

Paul turned his gaze towards the young guard. "Then I don't understand why you're still here?"

When Percy at last left in a sulk, Paul sighed.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Percy happened," Brutus answered darkly. Paul raised his eyebrows. _Oh._

"I'll talk to her," Brutus said.

Paul just nodded.

He found her in the corridor behind Paul's office. She was sweeping the floor so hard, he was surprised she hadn't ripped the floorboards apart.

"Hey," he called softly. "Are you a'right?"

A long silence followed his question, before the broom finally stopped. Her shoulders feel, as she turned and slowly sank down on the doorstep to the execution room.

"Percy told me what Delacroix had done," she said in a low voice. She paused to look at him. "Did he really rape and kill a girl?"

"Yes," he said, knowing it would be pointless to lie about it now. He moved closer to her.

"And those people, he burned to death – what happened?"

Brutus squatted down in front of her, his back against the wall. "I was told he panicked. He tried burning 'er, to get rid of the body, you know. But somehow he ended up setting an entire building on fire. Several people died."

The colour in her cheeks faded, and for a moment he wished he _had_ denied it all. Her shock left a tight sense of guilt in his throat.

"I'm sorry," Brutus said silently. "I understand if you hate him now. Lots of people would…

"No." She said weakly. "Perhaps, I should hate him. I don't know…" She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, absently, and sighed. "I'm a bit confused, to be honest. What he did was gruesome and despicable and his sentence is indeed deserved, but… No, I don't hate him. A part of me even pity him: He made one bad choice and ruined his life forever. Eduard Delacroix is now a dead man and there is nothing he can do about it."

"You know," Brutus said slowly. "Even though he killed all those people, it ain't certain that he is gonna die. Not before we pull the switch."

"No matter what happens, he will die," Ellie said calmly. "If he's lucky, the chair will get him."

"And if he ain't?"

She met his eyes. "Do you know how many of the Cold Mountain prisoners, who has young daughters?" she asked. "If his death sentence is change to life, he will be spending the rest of his days amongst them. And when they find out what he did, his death will not be quick. I do hope for his own good, that his reprieve is never going to be approved."

He was listening, honestly! But they were sitting so close, his knees just a handbreadth from hers. And it was suddenly very clear how dark blue her eyes were: Deep and soothing, like the night sky – and just as beautiful…

"You think it's wrong of me, to think like that?" His lack of respond made Ellie frown worryingly. He blinked.

"Uh – no." He cleared his throat, pulling himself together. "No, not at all. I wished more people thought like you: With their hearts…"

She gave him a tiny smile. "I've been told, it's my heart that always gets me into trouble."

He smiled back. "I don't believe that."

She scoffed, her smile turning all lop-sided.

"What about you?" she asked softly. "Do you hate them?"

Brutus shook his head. "No."

"Why not? You know what they have done?" It was more a question of curiosity, rather than disbelief.

He shrugged. "It's easier not to. If I had to hate every pris'ner in here, I'd be a very bitter man."

She half laughed. "True."

There was a second of silence and then, to Brutus surprise, she touched his knee fleetingly.

"I am glad you didn't lie about Delacroix," she said with a slight smile. "And thank you for checking on me, Brutus. That was very kind of you."

"I… No problem."

It was just a brief contact, but even after she removed her hand, he could still feel the tiny weight of her touch. Brutus was suddenly overwhelmed by a strong, unknown urge to reach out and take her hand… squeeze it gently to comfort her… let her fingers slide trough his… feel the softness of her skin…

His face turned hot. A bit flustered, he reached for his pocket watch. It took some time, before he was able to concentrate about the hands.

"Uh, miss Brent… Ellie – don't you get of at seven?"

"Oh, blimey! What time is it?"

"It's a'right: Just ten minutes past. If you hurry, you can still catch the bus."

They rose to their feet and he followed her back to Paul's office, where she grabbed her coat and purse, before continued to the Mile. Here he joined Dean and Paul at the desk, watching Ellie wishing Mrs. Reardon a good night.

"Is she okay?" Dean asked him worryingly. "What happened?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine," Brutus mumbled back. "Percy told her, what Del did. Guess it shook her a bit."

"Of course," Dean said knowingly. "No woman should ever hear about such thing."

Brutus rolled his eyes and murmured: "Now you sound like that goddamned Percy!"

"Well, she really shouldn't," Dean said, frowning. "It could devastate her."

Brutus snorted. "She ain't a glass vase you know. I'm pretty sure, she is much tougher, than you guys will ever give her credit for."

Dean shot him a sideways glare, but didn't dare say anything back, because Ellie was now again within earshot. She addressed Paul, looking slightly ashamed.

"Mr. Edgecomb, I'm sorry about before…"

Paul waved her off. "No harm done, don't you worry about it." He nodded towards Delacroix. "Del told me what happened."

The little Frenchman looked away, when she turned to him. She bit her lip.

"Maybe I just talk to him…" she began quietly, but Paul cut her off:

"No, miss Brent. You go home now, have a rest and we'll continue this tomorrow. Del ain't going nowhere."

She smiled, bowing her head. "Same time tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, miss. And we're looking forward to your delightful company, so don't you blow us off."

"That would never occur to me," she responded softly. "Goodnight, guys."

"'Night, Miss Brent."

"Sleep tight, Ellie." Her name slipped from Brutus tongue, before he could call it back; he wasn't even aware of it, before two pairs of surprised glares turned towards him. He blushed, without really knowing why…

And of course, Paul had to step in it.

"I didn't know, you guys were so intimate," he said innocently, when Ellie had left and they walked back to his office.

"We aren't. I… I jus' thought this entire formality was a bit foolish. I mean, we are supposed to be co-workers."

"So when did 'Eleanor' became 'Ellie'?" Dean asked with a teasing smile.

Paul grinned. "That's a _very_ good question!"

"A'right, knock it off, you two," Brutus growled. "I just drove her to the bus yesterday."

"You drove her to the bus?" Paul repeated, smirking. "How sweet of you."

Brutus felt the heat rose to his cheeks again. "Christ, so I can't give her a ride, but Dean is allowed to go crazy, every time her name is brought up."

"I don't…" Dean began, sounded hurt, but Paul cut him off:

"Well, Dean's a married man," he said. "And you ain't."

"Aw, come on!"

Feeling suddenly very hot and quite irritated, Brutus decided he didn't have to listen to this. Ignoring the significant looks between Paul and Dean, he left the office.

… And before he knew it, he found himself in the empty prison yard, staring through the fence as he followed her tiny figure hurry across the parking lot. His mouth went dry and his heart was beating rapidly.

This was going too fast – what was happening?

_You're pathetic. All it takes is a smile from a pretty gal to get you all flibbertigibbet. _

No, it was worse than that, he suddenly realised in slight horror, when his heart sank watching her leave. He was falling for her.


	7. Can't you see he likes you?

_Hello guys. Enjoying the summer? (:_

_My trainee-period is over for now and I just started my two weeks vacation, before I'm going back to school. Not sure if this means more or less time to write, so bear with me :P_

_Thank you so much for the reviews, the favs and the follows – means more to me, than you know._

_And again: If you see any mistakes, please let me know (:_

* * *

**Chapter 6** **– Can't you see he likes you?**

August became September and the warm weather continued – as did the tension between Percy and Ellie. In two days, Brutus hadn't seem them speak a single word to each other, besides forced polite greetings.

Percy was walking around like a pouting baby and every time Brutus saw his sour face, he couldn't help but to feel all childishly smug himself.

Percy's attempt to what ever it had been, had crashed like a dead pigeon. Brutus had come to the conclusion, that it had been some kind of twisted seduction, based on the power Percy pretended he had. To bad it didn't work on Ellie…

Instead she ignored him and continued her chats with Del when she was allowed – and the other inmates as well. Whether it was a protest against Percy or not, none of the guards cared: The prisoners behaved like meek, little lambs when she was around, so they let her. They had so few rays of comfort in life as it was… and none of them would be alive long enough to see her return to the hospital anyway.

"Christ, she sure does have them in the palm of her hands, haven' she?" Paul said in a low voice, his tone a puzzled mixture between disbelief and amazement, as he joined Brutus at the front disk five days after her arrival. They were watching her read aloud from a newspaper outside Alice's cell. It was suppose to be for Mrs. Reardon and her old eyes' sake, but the three convicted men were listening just as intense, if not more.

Brutus nodded, smiling. Her voice was soft yet vivid – the sound of comfort and hope in this the darkest of places. He couldn't blame them for listening. Hell, he would have been right there on the front row with them, if it wasn't because he had work to do.

Someone poked his arm. "Brutal, did you hear me?"

"Hmm – what?" He turned his head and was greeted by the growing grin on Pauls face.

"Looks like the inmates ain't the only one she's been spellbound in here," his superior said casually.

Brutus cursed the heat he could feel rise from below his collar line. He cleared his throat.

"What'd ya say?" he asked, trying to sound like it was no big deal.

Paul waved the dossier, he had poke Brutus with, in the air between them.

"My office. News from above."

Brutus pushed himself free of the table and followed him through the door, closing it behind them.

"So what's the news about? D.O.E's?"

"Well…" Paul crossed his arms. "We have Bitterbuck's: 17th of September. But Flanders is being transferred to C Block next week."

"He's being reprieved? Well, I'll be damned…"

So killing your own father coldblooded wasn't enough to buy you a seat in Old Sparky, but taking another mans life, while you were drunk out of this world was? Hello justice…

"And that's not all," Paul continued. "We'll be getting a new inmate on Wednesday."

"The day after tomorrow?"

"Yearh…" A slight flinch crossed Pauls face, as though the thought pained him – or perhaps he _was_ in pain.

Brutus frowned. "You okay?"

Paul hesitated. "I think I have caught myself a little bladder infection. But it's nothing, so don't worry."

"You sure?"

"Yup…" he said, perhaps a little bit too quickly. "Oh, and before I forget it: The movement of the infirmary has started and they need all the help they can get, so we'll all get our turns in the next couple of month."

Brutus groaned. "Can't we just sell 'em Percy and pray they'll keep him?"

Paul smiled. _You know I can't do that…_

"Speakin' of the Devil – where is the li'l worm now?" Brutus asked.

"Beats me. Haven't seen him in hours."

Brutus shook his head. "When he's finally done making our lives a living hell here, he should addition to be the new Harry Houdini. I swear, I've never met someone with such an impressive talent for disappearing, at every givin' chance."

Paul snorted and pulled the watch from his pocket. "Wouldn't surprise me, if his 'connections' could get him a job like that…. Christ, look at the time. Brutal, are you man enough to go tell them it's time to hit the showers?"

"You know they'll hate me forever, for telling them that Miss Brent's visit hour is over, right?" Brutus said, grinning.

Paul smirked. "Why do you think I'm not gonna do it myself."

oOo

"A'right, guys," Brutus called, when he and Paul returned to the Mile. "Bath time."

The men moaned in frustration.

"Aw, boss Howell!" Delacroix complained. "We ain't don' hea'ing bout mad'moiselle Rogers."

"Who?"

"Ginger Rogers," Flanders said and rose from his bunk, when Brutus slid his cell door open. "The actress, you know: Pretty girl with all the right proportions. There's a review about her new movie, 'Top Hat', in the paper."

"Oh, her. Hands, please."

"'Oh, her'," Flanders repeated, sounding offended, as Brutus handcuffed him. "That's all? Ain't much of a blond fan, are you?"

"No, actually," Brutus said gently, "I prefer 'em brown-haired."

Alice shot Ellie the same significant and hopeful look, as her mother use to do, when ever a young man as much a smiled in her directions. She pretended not to notice, as she pick up the newspapers she had finished.

"Don't worry, Alice," Paul said, as he unlocked Delacroix' cell. "We'll be back for you. And since your induction period has gone so well, you are allowed one hour in the yard this afternoon, what'd you say? You too, of course, Miss Brent."

"I say, I can't wait to feel the sun again," Alice responded, slightly relieved.

Ellie smiled thankfully at him. Not just because of the opportunity to get some fresh air, but because he hadn't used Alice's last name. She had just told them yesterday, how the old woman's husband's name still troubled her and she was happy, when they, without objection, had agreed to call her by her first name.

With the men gone, she went to Paul's office, to put the newspapers back in their file. It didn't take long to find the file, even though Paul had quite a collection: He used to gather for a week at a time, and then he took all the papers with him to E Block, for the prisoners to read.

There was just one problem: The entire collection had been placed on the top shell.

Even though she new it would be a pointless, she tried to reach for it, just to find out, that she was indeed several inches to short.

_Dammit…_ Whoever said, it had its benefits to be a tiny woman, was a bloody arse…

"Need help?" said a deep, soft voice behind her.

She nearly dropped the papers. How on earth was such a big man capable of moving so silently?

"No, it's okay. I can just grab a chair…"

Without noticing her objections, Brutus stepped up behind her and reached for the file. His massive chest brushed over her right shoulder, as he grabbed it. Ellie's face turned hot.

"There ya go."

"Show-off." She smiled and took the file, without turning to face him, terrified he might see her blushed cheeks. "Thank you."

"Jus' call next time, a'right?" he said in a warm, teasingly tone "Don't wanna see you fall down from a chair and hurt yourself."

"I will. Call you, I mean… not fall down…" She bit her lip, mentally kicking herself. _Smooth… very smooth…_

Brutus laughed. "Well, I actually jus' came back to ask ya, if you could assistance Alice in the shower. We ain't technically allowed in there, when it's a woman…"

"Yes, of course. I will be ready, when you guys come back."

"Great." He smiled. "I… We'll see you in bit, then."

He went back to the shower room, leaving Ellie behind to place the newspaper in the file. He was long gone when she finally realised, that she was still smiling.

If she ever heard someone speak disrespectful about prison guards again, she would personally slap them in the face… well, at least mentally. Never had she met such sweet guys, as those here in Cold Mountain's E Block.

Not least Brutus Howell.

oOo

Two hours and a shower later, Alice could step outside for the first time, since her arrival. She looked quite pleased, Ellie noticed, even though the sun was shining as unmerciful, as it had done all month and the air was so heavy, it was like breathing inside an oven, that someone had turned on.

It was times like this, that she was grateful for her skirt and thin, white fabric. How the guards could stand to walk around in a black uniform with several layers and a tie was quite a mystery. Or perhaps they had just learned how to suffer in silence.

"You ladies enjoy the fresh air," Paul said, as he closed and secured the door behind them. "Brutus and I will just stay here in the shadows, if you need us."

He wiped the back of his neck with a handkerchief and Ellie suddenly realized, how peaked he looked – like he was coming down with something.

"Mr. Edgecombe," she said gently. "Are you feeling well? You look rather pale?"

"Oh, it's just this God damned weather," he said, brushing her concern aside. "It's wearing me out."

Brutus frowned slightly, as though he knew it wasn't the truth, but when Ellie caught his eyes, he shook his head almost unnoticeable.

"He'll be alright," he said quietly, as Paul walked to the bench in the shadows. "Go with Alice, I'll keep an eye on him."

"Thanks."

He smiled at her. "But don't stay to long in the sun. Don' want our only nurse to go down with'a sunstroke."

Ellie returned his smile. "I won't. Promise."

Alice was waiting just a few steps behind her. She took her arm and they walked along the fence, looking at the prisoners and the armed guards on horseback, who worked in the fields behind the prison.

Or Ellie was at least. Alice was giving her that slightly annoying look again – that 'you-foolish-girl-why-can't-you-see-it?-look.

"What?" Ellie asked when she couldn't ignore her anymore.

"He likes you," Alice emphasized in her usual tranquil way.

"He's just being nice," Ellie dismissed. "He's a sweet, caring man."

"Sweet?" Alice repeated. "The man could replace the sugar on your pancakes and you'll never be able to taste the different."

Ellie smiled and shook her head, which just made Alice continued without a blink of an eye: "I'll also bet he's absolutely dazzling underneath that uniform."

The blood flushed to Ellie's cheeks.

"Stop it!" she whispered, now half laughing, and shot Brutus a embarrassing glare over her shoulder, to make sure he hadn't heard anything. "Brutus Howell is technically my superior. You are making me uncomfortable."

It wasn't completely untrue, but she blushed of entirely different reasons, than Alice's bluntness. After the encounter in Paul's office, she _had_ indeed tried to imagine what was hidden behind Brutus' broad shouldered jacket. And the image that had popped up wasn't unpleasant. Not at all! But how could she ever admit that to Alice?

Alice patted her hand.

"Oh, don't mind me, dear Eleanor," she said softly. "You are young and pretty and the men will line up, when you are ready again."

"You are a sweet liar, Alice."

"Am I?" The old woman smirked. "Then I dare you to look at him now."

Ellie hesitated, then turned her head.

Her eyes locked with Brutus' for just a split second, before he looked away and straightened himself with quite a bashful movement. Ellie wasn't sure whether it was the sun or perhaps her imagination, but his cheeks suddenly looked flushed.

Looking away too, she bit her lip to stop herself from smiling like a foolish teenage girl. She wasn't even aware, that blushing could be so contagious.


End file.
